The Everlasting Present
by Scriobhaim
Summary: "I don't think of the past. The only thing that matters is the everlasting present." -W. Somerset Maugham (1874-1965) More than ten years have passed since Michael, Fiona, and Charlie began life anew on the Iveragh peninsula. But can the past ever truly be behind anyone? Sometimes past and present meet, not always easily. A sequel to the story, "Sea and Change".
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Burn Notice and its characters are the intellectual property of others**.

**The Everlasting Present **

**Chapter One**

"Why can't I go?" A mixed look of petulance and defiance clearly visible as these words were uttered, a slight whine in his voice.

"I thought I made myself perfectly clear the first five times you asked that exact same question. The reasons haven't changed." The woman tried to keep her temper from flaring, wanting this conversation to be over. She continued wiping the countertops, the intensity of her actions increasing, along with her blood pressure.

"All the lads are going. It's all planned out." His proposition was not spontaneous, great care had gone into its organization. He hoped presenting a methodical plan would reap a greater chance of success, demonstrate his growing maturity.

"Apparently, not 'all' as you'll still be here." She noticed how much he had grown recently. He was able to look her in the eyes now, their heights matching. His hair was longer than she'd like, often covering his face. She resisted the impulse to brush it out his eyes as she had done so often when he was a wee boy.

"But it's the biggest match of the year!" He looked at her imploringly, trying a new approach.

"That's grand then, it will be on the telly. Problem solved." She feigned a smile, clearly wanting to put this argument behind them.

"Ugh!" He was completely frustrated, unable to continue with this pointless conversation. He turned away, storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

She stood by the window and watched him walk down the lane, her heart heavy, missing the days when he accepted her words with impunity. She stepped away once he slipped out of sight, and put the kettle on to boil, hoping tea might provide a bit of comfort.

How had time slipped away so quickly? She sometimes longed for the days when the mere utterance of her name provoked fear; when her reputation preceded her, and others bent to her will before she could do them any harm. Those days were in the past, that name no longer had an owner.

They had built a new life for themselves out of the ashes of the old. A life so vastly different that the one lived before, it was difficult to believe that former life truly existed. They referred to events as if on a historical timeline. There was B.C., Before Charlie, and A.D., After Death. Originally the terms were used primarily tongue-in-cheek, but as the years passed, the distinction took on meaning, defining the radical change that one day in Miami had wrought on all their lives. He had chosen her, fully, without reservation. A bullet on a rooftop, a mother's sacrifice, a dead man's switch, an explosion moving like a freight train, the feel of his hand, the safety of the water: these are the recurring memories of that fateful day. Then, there was Charlie. Jesse gently placed him in her arms sealing her future, their future.

Two people so confident in their professional lives had to learn how to have a personal one. Their relationship had often been tumultuous. Their agendas colliding, putting them at odds. "Death" had changed that. A life was forged together with common purpose, with gratitude for a second chance, with love.

Something they thought they never wanted had been their salvation. They mastered parenthood as they had done with every other skill in their arsenal, with motivation, practice, attention to detail, and most importantly, with teamwork. Their love for one another was already boundless but they found they had ample room in their hearts for one more. They vowed to give Charlie a life quite different from their own and up to this point they had succeeded.

A decade had passed. Charlie was no longer a little boy. The insularity of the life they had built for themselves began to gnaw at Charlie. It seemed as if each day a boundary was tested. This daily struggle was wearing and she felt the strain dearly. She sipped her tea, enjoying the warmth, hoping it would keep the chill of fear at bay.

They had found happiness. They had a nearly idyllic existence. Charlie was almost grown. Why did she have this sense of dread? Then she recalled Michael's warning from long ago, B.C, "_The most dangerous time in an operation is when everything is coming together. You never know if you are about to get a pat on the back or a bullet to the back of the head."_ She pulled her jumper more snugly around her, the coldness settling around her heart.

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He trudged down the hill, anger coursing through his body. He wasn't a child anymore. He and his mates had methodically planned the outing. The match between Kerry and Dublin was to be held in Croke Park two weekends hence. If one of the parents was willing and able to drive them to Killarney, they could catch the 8 am train, arriving in Dublin before midday. They could easily catch the bus from there, making it with time to spare for the 14:00 start time. Liam's aunt and uncle already invited the group to spend the night at their place and they could head back the following day. Why did she have to be so bloody set against this?

His fury had dissipated slightly by the time he reached Liam's, the others already gathered there.

"Any luck?" One of them called out upon seeing his arrival.

"She won't budge." His annoyance was clearly visible to all.

"Pish!" The disappointment was evident among the group.

"Ask your da. He'll understand. He may even want to join us!" A chorus of laughter followed the comment.

"My da? You're having me on. He doesn't follow football. Not really. He pretends but I can tell he's not that interested. He knows just enough to follow the _craic _at the pub." He shoulders slumped a bit in defeat. "Besides, he'll back my ma to the end. Always takes her side."

Charlie sat down on the bench, reflecting on his family. It wasn't that he didn't love his ma and da, he did with all his heart, but he often felt that they were the most boring people in the universe. They lived in one of the least populated places in Ireland, if not the world, rarely travelling outside the county. Everyone went to Dublin for one thing or another, family gatherings, concerts, sporting matches, but not them. Relatives made the trek out to see them but they never reciprocated the visit. Even with all the space around him, he felt constricted. He was nearly fifteen and was ready to spread his wings a bit, expand his real life experiences. Why couldn't they understand?

It's not that his parents lacked a spirit of adventure either. They hardly lived a sedentary life. As far back as Charlie could remember, they were always on the go. They belonged to the archery club in Killarney, made regular visits to the shooting range in Tralee, spent hours hiking and climbing around the local mountains. A few years back they took up fishing in the local loughs, his mother was resistant at first claiming she didn't have the patience for it. She changed her mind after his father caught the biggest trout of the season, determined that she would snag one larger. That's just how they were, a bit competitive with one another, never with anyone else. Charlie was their only child and he was included on every outing, taught every skill they knew, and was given encouragement to practice and succeed in whatever interested him. Maybe that was the reason he was so taken aback by their refusal to even consider his request. They spent a lifetime urging him to pursue his dreams and now that he had one, they squelched it without debate.

Charlie watched his three friends, his shoulders slumped, an air of resignation about him. They had become inseparable since they met as Junior Infants soon after his family had settled here. Liam, Gerry, and Donal were trying to contain their excitement about their upcoming adventure for his sake. He knew they wanted to continue to make plans, talk about the upcoming match, which players would lead the charge, which would falter. His presence was stifling their conversation. He stood up, "I'm off." His words trailing behind him as he headed back to the road. The others looked at one another, watching him leave, unsure on what to say to console him.

He wandered about not intentionally moving in any specific direction. Yet he found himself in front of the shop, O'Sullivan's Auto Repair. O'Sullivan had been in his grave over three years, but his father kept the name. He spotted his da, head lowered into the bowels of an old clunker. He moved closer. His da noticed his approach, summoning him even nearer, putting him to use. Specific tools were requested, Charlie handed them over. He often helped in the shop enjoying the time alone with his father, gleaning some of the mechanical expertise his father possessed. They worked this way in silence for some time like surgeons attending a patient. Finally, the task was completed. His father stood up reaching for a towel to clean his hands. "Thanks," Michael noticed the expression on Charlie's face. "Something on your mind?"

Charlie's eyes were downcast, not knowing where to start. "This about Dublin?" His father's words prompted him to look up. "Because I think Fi made it clear last night how she felt about the idea."

Charlie became animated, "Ma won't listen to reason! Give her the beans, Da!"

"Give her the beans? You mean, put my foot down? With Fi?" Michael had a look of confusion on his face. "Have you actually met her?" Smiling at the thought of trying that approach with Fi.

Words exploded from the boy. He hurriedly blathered on about the issue, this thoughts spilling forth, afraid if he hesitated he would never be able to fully convey his feelings. When he chatted away like this, he reminded Michael so much of Nate. Nate was always a talker! Michael listened carefully, making no response. More that the actual words, Michael heard the unspoken plea. Charlie desperately needed to begin making a few decisions of his own, his quest for independence validated by those he trusted most. The opinions of his parents mattered deeply to him. He had to know that they thought he was capable, that they trusted his judgment, that they had prepared him well for the future. Michael understood that there was more at stake than simply a football match.

As Charlie prattled on, Michael realized that a conversation with Fi would need to follow this one, a discussion he would rather not have but appeared unavoidable. They had resolved long ago to make decisions like these in a unified manner, hammering out their differences privately, presenting their ruling together. Charlie finally stopped, either out of breath, or out of things to say, Michael wasn't totally sure which.

Michael reached out, placing a hand on his son's shoulder, and looking him straight in the eye and stated, "I'll see what I can do." It wasn't exactly the answer Charlie wanted but it was a start.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

He entered the cottage, spotting her immediately. She stood by the window, staring into the garden, lost in thought. He was unsure if she had noticed his entry, her body rigid, her eyes fixed. It wasn't until he was beside her that he noticed the knife in her hands. She held it clenched in a fist, a trio of unpeeled pratties on the cutting board, possibly the ingredients for tonight's meal. She glanced in his direction but remained silent. He washed his hands at the sink biding his time as he watched her body begin to soften now that he was near. He turned, leaned on the countertop behind him, crossed his arms, and looked at her, waiting for her to speak.

"You spoke to Charlie, didn't you?" Her voice indicated a slight annoyance. She turned toward him still holding the paring knife.

Michael gently grasped her hand. "If by spoke to Charlie, you mean listened to Charlie, then the answer is yes." He slowly removed the potential weapon. Smiling, he added, "This might be a conversation better to have without a sharp implement in your hands." His words brought a small smile to her lips as he moved the knife out of her reach.

He watched her for a moment. She was so beautiful. A few more lines, some gray quickly covered up at the salon, but these changes barely registered. Whenever he looked into her eyes, he saw a woman who filled his heart, filled his life. The years may have advanced but he only saw the face that first danced with him in that dingy pub all those years ago. Like some _leanan_ _sidhe _of folklore, she had ensnared him from first glance, hopelessly locked under her spell, one of which he wanted no release.

His stare began to unsettle her. She shifted her eyes before she spoke. "He's too young to go gallivantin' off." Her tone was adamant. There really was no need for further discussion. She was about to reach for the knife again, ready to begin peeling the bounty before her. Michael knew more must be said, even if she was reluctant to hear it.

"Fi, he's about to be fifteen. You, two, have been talking about him going to university in a couple of years. He can't do that here. He'll need to go to Dublin, Cork, Galway, London..." Fiona shot him a look that silenced that thought.

"Okay, maybe not London." He realized that perhaps he had gone too far with that suggestion. Still, his point was sound. Charlie was nearly grown. Soon, he would need to follow his own path. Facts must be faced.

"Fi. Think about it. When I was not much older that he is now, I joined the army, shipped out overseas. And you- you were blowing up cars all over Belfast!"

"It was a different time. We both lived in war zones, of a sort." Fi countered his observation with one of her own. "Charlie hasn't lived that type of life. He doesn't need to escape."

"He doesn't want to escape, Fi. He just wants to go to a football match with his buddies. He wants to see more of the world than County Kerry. He wants to go to Dublin, Fi, not Beirut!" His words made sense. She almost wished they didn't so she could continue to resist the idea.

Her body slumped into his as he opened his arms to receive her. She rested her head against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart. Her arms encircled him. They stood motionless for several moments each drawing strength from each other. "How do we know it will be safe?" Fi's voice was barely a whisper.

"It's been over ten years, Fi."

She pulled away lightly so that she could meet his gaze. "There are those with long memories and greater anger. You of all people should know that."

"I understand completely." He said the words decisively, affirming Fi's words. "Old... 'associates' ...may still recognize you or me- but we won't be there." He hesitated, then continued, "He'll be one lad in a crowd of thousands of others rooting on their team." She mulled over his words, seeing the reality of them.

Michael could see her resolve was weakening. His arguments were driven by logic, hers ruled by emotions, a place they often found themselves, then and now. Michael's expression changed as he added, "And you are forgetting one important part of this whole plan..." She looked at him quizzically. "We would have the house all to ourselves. Now, how often does that happen?" A devilish grin appeared on his face.

Fi was instantly intrigued by the thought. "Think you can handle it, O'Donovan. It could be like the old days." Her mind was now in overdrive pondering the possibilities.

"Just as long as I won't be in traction at the end." A kiss ended the sentence.

"I make no promises." They gazed into one another's eyes both with a similar thought. Perhaps, the looming empty nest may just have a few advantages. Perhaps, they would add an A.C. to their family timeline, After Charlie, another phase of their complicated history.

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Dinner was a silent and awkward affair that evening. The three sat round the table trying to enjoy the meal, everyone's mind elsewhere. Fi tried to begin several conversations, receiving monosyllabic answers from Charlie and death glares from Michael. Charlie stared intently at his plate as if its contents were fascinating, eating little as he moved the items around with his fork. Fiona watched Charlie's actions and held her tongue, reacting by taking a rather large gulp of wine. Michael pretended not to notice Charlie's antics. He continued to glare at Fi willing her to do right by Charlie in this situation despite her reservations. The message was delivered and clearly understood as Fi took another gulp even larger than the first. Dinner was nearly finished. Charlie would soon disappear into his room for the night. Michael cocked his head, raised his eyebrows, his annoyance growing at her hesitation.

A heavy sigh, a last chug of her wine, and then her voice broke the oppressive silence, "I was wondering if the Queen of Tarts, you know that tea shop, the one on Dame Street, still makes those luscious blackberry and apple crumbles." A small smile crossed her lips as she recalled the pudding, one of her favorites. Charlie and Michael first looked at one another curious as to what might have prompted the inquiry. Then, they turned their attention to her, expressions of confusion on their faces. She stood up ready to clear the table, glanced at Michael, then addressing Charlie, she added, "I thought while you were in Dublin next Saturday, you might pick one up for me, bring it home, if its not too much bother."

Charlie leapt from his chair, embracing his mother, practically lifting her in the air in his enthusiasm. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" Michael watched the scene play out. He caught Fi's eye and with a slight nod of his head acknowledged his approval, understanding just how difficult it was for her to finally make that overture.

"I need to call the lads. They'll be over the moon." Charlie smiled at Michael knowing he had a large role in his ma's change of heart. An unspoken look of thanks passed between them before he left the room ready to make a few calls. Fi and Michael watched him disappear.

"Took you long enough." He poured her another glass of wine and one for himself. "I was beginning to think you were going to renege." They clinked their glasses

"Thought about it. It still doesn't feel right to me." She shook her head slightly, then paused before continuing. "But then I remembered: you, me, a night to ourselves." She gave him a coy smile, then closed her eyes, "Ah, but then I thought about that crumble and it sealed the deal." She opened her eyes anxious to see his reaction.

"The crumble? That's where I fit in your affections now? After pudding?" He countered back enjoying the banter. He pulled her closer.

In a breathy voice, Fi murmured in his ear, "I didn't say what I planned to do with the crumble, did I?" She had always been a master at flirtation; the years had not lessened her skills. Michael leaned in to kiss her just as Charlie re-entered the room.

He came to a complete halt seeing his parents locked in yet another embrace, a common sight that often made him uncomfortable recently. He hoped they had not spotted him and he turned back to retreat to his room.

"Don't be going anywhere, young man. There are things that need discussing." Fi didn't take her eyes from Michael's during this pronouncement. But as Charlie drew closer, Fi released herself from Michael, settling herself on the sofa, glass in hand. She patted the empty space next to her indicating that Charlie should sit beside her.

Charlie rolled his eyes but took the place as directed, waiting for whatever was to come.

Fi began, "You're to call us every two hours..." Michael cleared his throat loudly drawing her attention to him. She understood his meaning. "You'll call us when you arrive, after the match, when you're settled for the night, and when you reach the station the next day." No guttural sounds issued from Michael this time. Charlie nodded his assent.

"Same rules apply to you there as they do here. You know what they are. Keep your wits about you. Don't go wandering about." Charlie listened carefully. He could tell that his mother was still very uncomfortable with this idea and it somehow made him love her that much more. "I'll have a chat with Liam's aunt, the one you're staying with in Dublin. Make sure you boys have a proper curfew." Charlie groaned a bit at those words but saw from her face that was not negotiable. "Right, then. Anything to add?" She turned the conversation over to Michael.

"That about covers it." He stood facing the pair, hands on his hips. "Mess up and you won't see the light of day until you're eighteen." He said this with a smile but his steely gaze made Charlie believe he meant every word. Charlie had no intention of squandering this opportunity. Those words ended the conversation.

Charlie quickly got up, moved toward his room, anxious to continue texting the others about their plans. As he reached the hallway, he did an about face, rushed over to Fi, gave her a quick peck on the cheek, saying, "I love you, ma." Then, he was off again.

They both watched him go, Michael taking his place on the sofa. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I don't suppose you'll let me tail him." Michael looked at her wondering if she were serious but her smile quickly dispelled that notion. They sipped their wine, making plans of their own.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Everlasting Present Chapter Three**

The din from the back seat was deafening. All four boys crowded into the cramped space, their growing bodies filling every square inch. Their excitement seemed impossible to contain, a bit of nervousness there, as well. They left before first light in order to reach the station with time to spare. Michael and Fiona wished they had brought earplugs, feeling the other parents might rightly object to the use of duct tape to silence their passengers. Instead, they tried to block out the distraction focusing on the road and the day that lie before them.

After the longest car ride of their lives, the destination was reached. The track was easily found, the train ready for boarding. Last minute admonishments, a final goodbye, and the boys mounted the steps, quickly finding their seats in the compartment. Fiona watched them through the windows. It seemed like only yesterday she and Charlie were playing with trains, now he was on a journey of his own. Michael placed his arm around her, holding her closer as the train began to move. Fiona wasn't sure if the embrace was for comfort or to prevent her from jumping aboard herself. They continued their vigil until the train was no longer visible.

"I don't know about you, but I could use a strong cup of coffee and some peace and quiet," Michael noted as the train slipped from their view. Fiona smiled, slipped her arm through his and they headed off down the street.

Charlie watched from his window, staring at his parents standing on the platform growing smaller each second until they finally disappeared from view entirely. His parents were good people, a bit overprotective, perhaps, but that was expected, as he was their only child coming to them later in life. He knew they were not his biological parents. A discussion of genetics a few years ago opened that discussion when he questioned how it was possible for him to have brown eyes while they both had light coloured eyes. He had vague memories from when he was little, bad memories, nothing specific. Michael and Fiona explained the accidental deaths of Nate, his father, his mother Ruth, and later Madeline, his paternal grandmother, that had given them the opportunity, the gift, of raising him. They were the only parents he remembered. They were the only parents that mattered. He turned his attention back toward his friends ready to embark on this grand adventure.

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The day stretched before them filled with possibilities, no time constraints or waiting sitter to consider. Moments like this were very rare over the past ten years though neither had any complaint. By the time Charlie had entered their lives, both were fully ready to leave behind their solitary ways. Once they made this commitment to each other, to Charlie, they were inseparable. They had spent too many wasted years apart. Sometimes their separation had been physical, Michael's occupation necessitated a lack of roots in any one place. Once together in Miami, there was often an emotional distance, Michael believing he was not a candidate for a relationship between his dysfunctional parents as role models and a job that endangered the people that he cared about. Fiona had her own daemons. She loved Michael for years almost bordering on obsession. It took a painful breakup, both attempting to put their former relationship behind them, to make them realize exactly how much they meant to one another. When they reunited, they had greater clarity of not only their own needs, but more importantly, the needs of the other. The love was always there but matured becoming deeper, sustainable.

While in the cafe sipping their coffee, they outlined the plans for the day. The archery range beckoned them. Wagers were placed to make the game more interesting. High point scorer would get to choose the next activity. Fiona thought a day of shopping was the perfect way to spend the afternoon, the Outlet Centre and Deerpark Mall calling out to her. Michael yearned for a day on the links at any one of the courses in the area. Both were highly motivated! Arrows flew, points tallied, they were evenly matched. It came down to the final shot.

Fiona's arrow hit the target, a perfect bullseye. She turned to Michael, "Hope you brought plenty of cash. I do need new shoes." A smirk crossed her face as she stepped away, ready to have Michael try to better her shot.

Michael took his stance. As his arm began the draw, he glanced over at Fi noting her smug expression. He knew he could make the shot. He also knew what a sore loser Fiona could be. He could survive a day of shopping better than facing a day of Fi's wrath. A slight adjustment of his aim as he released the arrow gave her the victory she sought. He feigned distress.

"Oh, so sorry." Fi's smile indicating she didn't feel sorry at all.

The shopping excursion was not a complete success, however. Fi definitely missed boutique shopping so common in larger cities. The goods were less varied here, the brands available were limited. She made a few purchases but shoes were her weakness and this is where she felt the deficit keenly.

She picked up a pair of heels, inspecting them from all angles, then with a heavy sigh, "Not exactly Christian Louboutin, are they?"

Michael unsure as to how to respond said nothing. Fiona continued to browse, not really finding much of interest. "I must admit, I wish I was off to Dublin with Charlie. Shopping's a bit more fun on Grafton Street. I could be in the shoe department of Brown Thomas about now." She closed her eyes visualizing the venue in her mind, remembering the scent of quality leather

"A bit more expensive, too, as I recall." Michael's comment propelled her back to the present.

"True. Gunrunning was a more lucrative field. I do miss its perks." Fiona admitted.

"There are perks of running a garage, too." Michael pointed out. "After all, no one shoots at you." Fiona made no comment, her expression was thoughtful. "You do consider that a benefit. Right?"

"Most days." Fiona drifted off to the next department. Michael staring at her. She never ceased to surprise him.

They decided to take the ring road on their homeward journey, a stop at their favorite restaurant en route. The Point Bar was a small place overlooking the ferry port. As they entered, Bridie spotted them, directing them to the small table nestled against the window. Two pints were quickly delivered as the two women chatted, catching up on life. There wasn't any need to peruse the menu. Michael and Fiona regularly selected the crab claws, today was no exception. They lingered over their meal, enjoying the time together. Conversation came easily. There had been so many years where too much was left unsaid, that was no longer the case. After dinner, they joined the crowd milling about the bar area, mostly locals, a few tourists from the neighboring B & Bs. They joined in the _craic, _talk centering on the fishing, the numbers of visitors, and mostly the weather. Michael was still not entirely comfortable with these types of gatherings but Fiona insisted aloofness was regarded with suspicion, sociability was expected. It was important to assimilate into the area; pub culture had been one factor enabling that to happen. When Fiona deemed sufficient visiting had occurred, they made their goodbyes and headed home.

The night sky was clear, the moonlight reflecting off the water. Both enjoyed a contented silence on the drive. Once home, Fiona gathered the parcels from her shopping excursion, giving Michael a few to carry inside.

"Where do you want these?" Michael asked once through the front door.

"Oh, look, you have the one from the lingerie shop. Care to peek inside? I plan on wearing it tonight." Fiona smiled sweetly.

Michael returned the smile, willing to join in the game. He looked inside, a bit perplexed. "There's nothing here?" As Michael met her gaze, he noticed her expression had changed. Charlie and Dublin were the furthest things from either of their minds.

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The four were enjoying their first taste of adulthood, reveling in the freedom of being away from home, away from their parents. All of Dublin was before them and they wanted to sample as much of it as they could. The match was amazing! There was a sea of green and gold as the Kerry fan spurred on their team all the way to victory. They left the stadium jubilant ready to tackle the city itself. They had three hours on their own before Liam's uncle was to collect them for the night. They browsed a few shops, ate fish and chips by the Liffey, and Charlie remembered to pick up crumble for his ma.

One of the lads on a bit of a lark proposed heading to the Sinn Fein bookstore over on Parnell Square wanting perhaps to buy a t-shirt for his brother. The others thought it a great idea and best of all it wouldn't soak up any of their precious euros. They headed up O'Connell Street and its many monuments not really pausing to admire any of them. They did stop for a while at the GPO, scene of the Easter Rising of 1916, putting their fingertips into the bullet holes that could still been seen on the building and its columns. These boys still found it hard to imagine that their little country, so peaceful with very little clout in the world, could ever have been mired in conflict, but, that was all ancient history now. Still, some of the old spun their tales wanting the youth to hear of their ancestors' or their own exploits in the rebellion, the civil war, or more recently The Troubles. It wasn't a subject that came up much in Charlie's household so his knowledge and interest in the subject was somewhat limited.

They filed into the small shop feeling a bit out of place, but curious as to what they might find. There were bookshelves of historical books and videos. T-shirts lined the walls, some with images of Bobby Sands, Long Kesh prison, and the like; some with slogans, "Tiocfaidh Ar La", "Dublin-the City that Fought an Empire". All the boys decided to buy one, thinking it would be a good souvenir of their trip, and it would be something they could not get at home. Charlie was the last to select his. Just as he completed the purchase, bag in hand, Gerry called him over to the bookshelves.

His three friends were huddled around a book chronicling The Troubles, its heroes and the people in the shadows. It was opened to a large double page photograph of a scene in Belfast some time ago, a confrontation between police and some of the citizenry. There was a woman in the photo about to throw a petrol bomb. Three pairs of eyes were studying that image intently. Gerry pointed to the figure, "Charlie, is that your ma?"

Charlie looked at the picture. It was taken some time ago, the quality a bit grainy. It did reassemble his mother but he brushed the idea quickly aside. What would his mother be doing in Belfast throwing a petrol bomb? The idea was absurd. "Eejits!" He laughed good naturedly at his friends."Yeah, that's her, my mother the bomb maker." His friends realized just how ridiculous the idea was, joining him in laughter as they exited the shop.

The man at the register watched them leave. Then, he walked over to those same bookshelves. He found the book the others had inspected, opening it to the page described. A face from the past stared back at him, a trail long gone cold as winter. He smiled recalling that one of the lad's had paid by credit card. It was a start.

He rummaged through the receipts quickly finding the one he sought. The name on the card was unimportant. It was the first step of a search. An inquiry call was made shortly to the bankcard issuer. A lie easily told, the address of the cardholder obtained in short order. Information of this sort was worth a few euros and more importantly a few favors.

It would be a shame to waste the opportunity. He picked up the phone and began to dial.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Everlasting Present Chapter Four**

At the opposite end of the country, another answered that call. The years had not been kind to him. He had recently been released from prison, bitter and broken by his time served. Years of his life gone! He had such plans, dreams that had gone awry. It had all gone wrong because of her.

She had foiled his plans twice. The first was years ago back when they were both young. A perfect plan. A prep school bombing. The headlines would be splashed around the world making a bold statement that he and his beliefs were not to be trifled with. He wanted to share the glory with her. A bomber herself, she would see the beauty of the plan, her skills put to use to benefit the cause. But it didn't unfold as he envisioned. She had ratted him out, not to the Garda or the RUC, but to the Army who didn't appreciate his initiative. They were making strides in "diplomacy". He wanted his enemies to bleed. A parting of the ways was inevitable.

The woman and her associates had diverted his device. She feigned comradeship while engaging in betrayal. Instead of being hailed as a hero, he was labeled a traitor. He had spent several years in gaol plotting his revenge. Once his freedom was regained, ready to set his plan in motion, she had disappeared. His resentment continued to grow; somehow blaming her for all that had gone wrong. A phone call from Dublin restored his hope.

She was found, living in Miami. A new plan was hatched. A way to restore his worth and honor was discovered. The woman had several bouts of righteous indignation, sticking herself in others' affairs. She had made a string of enemies throughout the region. He would use that to his advantage. He gathered some mates who worked for ideology and cash. A trip across the sea easily accomplished. Actually capturing the bitch was a bit more complicated but in the end she was his. A grand return to Eire was planned. He would step on Irish soil once more with powerful friends and cash to spare. They would listen to him now. His was the voice that would dictate policy. That policy would make them all pay. No "diplomacy", but justice, his justice. He remembered her face as he held the knife, seeing fear there though she tried to disguise it. He was looking forward to drawing out her pain, giving her a small taste of all that had befallen himself.

Unfortunately, his triumph was short lived. Some American spy meddled in the affair, not for a cause, not for rewards of any kind, but for love. It sickened him just to think of it. Such a waste! He was picked up not long after and sent away for a good long while. He had long stretches of isolation waiting for the opportunity to seek his revenge. Word reached him several years ago that the American was dead, blown up, some say by the very woman he had saved, thwarting his plans; bit of poetic justice, perhaps, but little comfort to him now. The woman had not been seen since, presumed dead. He had hoped she met a painful end.

A few months back, he regained his freedom. Very little work came his way, many of his old acquaintances had moved on, living more like pensioners than radicals. He sorely missed the good old days, the days of mayhem and change. He found some solace in the bottle, reminiscing about the past, existing at the margins of the underworld. The call changed all that!

Flynn, a former RIRA associate, now a clerk at the Dublin shop, got in touch. He related the events that had transpired that day. He didn't know the name of the lad whose mother was the topic of discussion but he did know the name of his mate and where they lived. Flynn recognized the face in the photo. Apparently, the reports of her death may have been made hastily. It warranted some investigation, perhaps a trip to Kerry.

Thomas O'Neill was intrigued. She had slipped through his grasp twice. Perhaps the third time was the charm. And she had a son, that could prove to be useful in terms of leverage! O'Neill ended the phone call, happier than he had been in quite some time. He'd make a few calls of his own. He pushed the bottle away. He needed a clear head. He needed to gather intel. He needed to recruit some allies. He needed to formulate a plan. He needed revenge!

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Michael and Fiona sat on the sofa in their usual position. Her body leaned into his as they enjoyed the warmth of the fire, silent but content. The sound of tyres crunching on the gravel announced Charlie's return. Michael quickly moved to the door anxious to greet him, to hear about his travels. As Charlie entered he gave a wave thanking Mr. O'Shea for the ride, then bounded inside, carrying a small pastry box.

"Glad to have you home. It was a little too quiet around here without you." Michael patted Charlie on the shoulder, taking his small bag, and indicating he should join Fi.

He presented her with the requested crumble. She took the precious box, inhaling deeply, the aroma already permeating the room. "We'll enjoy this treat a bit later. So, how did it go?" Fiona asked.

"I talked to you twelve times by mobile. I don't think there's anything left to tell." Charlie said, feeling that he had already told them everything of note already. Then, he heard Michael clear his throat in an exaggerated manner, staring at him in such a way to let Charlie know that he should provide details. Charlie got the message. He joined her on the sofa and gave a summary of the important parts of the journey. He described the football match in detail. He talked about Dublin, how exciting it was, the masses of shops, the tourists, the size of Croke Park. He prattled on for quite a while. Fiona hung on his every word.

Michael's attention was divided. He listened to Charlie, pleased with the enthusiasm in his voice, his keen observations, and his growing maturity. He watched Fiona's face as she looked at Charlie while he was speaking, her gaze was so full of love, so relieved to have him home again. They knew they were on borrowed time now. While Charlie was off in Dublin, Michael and Fiona had many conversations about the future. They both realized their time with him was waning. He would be off on his own before too long. It was something that they both wanted for him, but when the time came, it would be hard to see him go. He could see Fi's eyes welling up a bit as Charlie continued on. He caught her eye and smiled reassuringly. They would always have each other. Madeline was right. He had picked the right girl.

The warmth of the fire finally reached Charlie and he took off his jacket setting it beside him. Charlie's t-shirt was unveiled. It read the "IRA: Undefeated Army". Fiona turned pale, a sharp intake of breath followed. She looked at the shirt, she looked at Michael, she looked back at Charlie. An awkward silence descended upon the room.

Michael broke the silence, a forced smile on his face. "And where did you find that?"

"Like it?" Charlie spun around, modeling it from all sides. "Sinn Fein Bookstore." Both adults were speechless for a moment. "Felt like quite the rebel in there." Charlie chuckled a bit before continuing, "It's packed with all sorts of shirts, books about the IRA, The Troubles, 1916, and the like. Sketchy clerk in there, too. Looked scary enough to actually have been in the Army! Luckily, nothing blew up!" He seemed to find his own comment humorous. Fi, however, did not even crack a smile.

"Sinn Fein Bookstore. Of course." Michael continued his strained smiling. "Honey, isn't that nice. He visited the Sinn Fein shop."

The use of the word "honey" snapped Fiona out of her daze. It was always their distress call. Fiona realized Michael was concerned that her reaction would give Charlie pause. His warning was received and heeded. She brushed her worry aside, her mind brought back to the present. "You must be starving! Can I fix you some eggs and toast, maybe a rasher or two?" Fiona moved toward the kitchen. Charlie watched her go, a little puzzled by her reaction.

"Why don't you get yourself unpacked? I bet your food will be ready by then." Michael kept the forced smile on his face. Charlie nodded, grabbed his rucksack, and headed toward his room.

"The Sinn Fein Bookstore? What the hell was he doing there? I thought he was going for a football match." She paused, and then turned to Michael, fury in her eyes. "This is your fault!"

"He bought a t-shirt, Fi." Michael kept his voice low. "He didn't join the IRA. Relax!" He tried to calm her down, somewhat unsuccessfully. It was difficult having an argument in hushed voices.

"You told me Dublin wouldn't be a problem. Now he has THAT shirt! Not a good idea, Michael. I'd rather not remind others of this family's former associations!" Fiona's eyes were filled with fire.

"I understand. This is a delicate situation..." Michael's thoughts were interrupted as Charlie re-emerged, hungry, as usual.

Both Michael and Fiona put on their artificial smiles. Fi set the plate in front of him. She ignored the offending garment and concentrated on ignoring Michael instead. "So, Charlie, tell me more about Dublin. Did you by any chance go by Brown Thomas? They have the best shoe department." Michael rolled his eyes, realizing he was in for a long night.

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The four boys huddled around the table focused on a set of papers. An animated debate was brewing as Fi walked in. Charlie looked up briefly at her entry, while Donal shouted out, " 'Lo, Mrs. O." Then, they proceeded to return to their work, their voices becoming louder, talking over one another, each in an effort to make his own point.

Fiona began sorting her purchases from the market. She made several sideways glances toward the table, wondering what was causing all the fuss. Her curiosity was growing especially as she heard snippets of their conversation. She wanted a closer look without appearing to be intruding. An easy solution was found: food. These growing lads were always hungry these days. They could clear out her larder quite easily, and often did just that. Today, they seemed too focused on their task. She gathered a few things, placed them on a tray, a platter of carrots, a package of crisps, four blueberry yogurts, and four waters. Then, she brought it to the table believing they would descend upon it like a pack of wolves and she could get a better view of their papers. Surprisingly, some words of thanks were muttered but little movement, Donal grabbing a few carrots to munch on.

"School project?" Fiona asked trying to catch a glimpse of the work.

"Master Hanlon challenged the class to come up with a plan to demolish the old linen works building using our physics and chemistry knowledge." Charlie explained. "We are to be cost effective and use safety as our priority."

"I say we just nuke it. Then, we're done and have time for some gaming." Donal was laughing as he spoke but his interest in the project was clearly diminishing.

The other three had a more sensible solution, they were beginning to come to consensus. Fiona looked at their materials list and calculations. "What you're proposing could work but you'd wind up with a larger debris field than is really practical." She stared at the diagram for quite a bit while the boys stared at her. She reached for a pencil and paper, writing a list of other potential useful components. "If I were you boys, I'd look into some of these. Less explosive potential, more implosion types of reactions, bringing a building down more vertically, reducing the refuse." Donal stopped eating while he, Gerry, and Liam exchanged glances. Charlie looked puzzled. Fiona stared at the blueprint of the mill for a long time without speaking, finally adding, "You chose a good load bearing wall to set the charge but I'd move it about a meter to the left." She faced the boys and noted their odd expressions.

Four pairs of eyes were fixed on her. No one moved. "How do you know all that?" Donal asked the question on everyone's minds.

Fiona immediately realized that she might have overplayed her hand. "I worked on a construction site in my younger days. Picked up a few tips." She smiled uncomfortably as they boys continued to stare. "Right then. I'll let you get back to work. Anyone want tea?" She moved away from the table quickly immersing herself in kitchen duties.

No one spoke for a while, nor did they return to work immediately. All four had the same thought. Their minds returned to that implausible photo they saw while in Dublin. Charlie was the last to move, as thoughts raced through his mind. Perhaps his friends weren't the _eejits_ he supposed. Perhaps it was time to do some research of his own.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Everlasting Present Chapter Five**

Ah, the Internet was truly a marvel! A few clicks of a mouse and there was a world of information at your fingertips. O'Neill had hired the best he could find that was willing to work with the likes of himself. Low on funds, there was a promise of riches to be had. A hacker probed the records and accounts of families in the targeted area. They focused on those households with a woman approximately Glenanne's age and a boy in his mid-teens. If others resided within, they could not be eliminated. Glenanne could have had a passel of brats in the intervening years, perhaps even a husband. The information was methodically gathered. The resident population was relatively small in that part of the country. There were seventeen potential families to investigate.

O'Neill truly wanted their reunion to be a surprise so two others took the trip to Iveragh. So easy to play tourist in such a place! Cameras in hand, no need for concealment here, they took photos at will, no one questioning their actions. It took several days but their efforts were not in vain. There she was! The job completed, they returned to O'Neill with their discovery.

The envelope was presented to O'Neill with a flourish. "Think you may find this to your liking." The two men grinned as they watched O'Neill's face as he slipped the photos out. Photos from the football field, the market, and the school were captured. The cottage was a bit isolated, not conducive to snapping pictures without raising concern. There were several of them; all included the woman, side views, frontal views, leaving no doubt as to her identity. He would know that face anywhere. It was etched into his psyche as he had little else to ruminate upon during his stint away. The years apparently had been kind to her, a little older obviously, but her looks had not deserted her. She had the benefit of living on the outside all these years while he was locked in a cage. Well, she wouldn't look so lovely after he finished with her this time!

The boy was also very visible. Same height as the woman, not too much physical resemblance, must look like his da, he speculated. Apparently, there was only the one son. But one was enough to add a bit extra to his plan. He held no special regard for children and this one was nearly a man fully grown. No reason to leave an angry pup once you dealt with the bitch. O'Neill smiled at the thought.

None of the photos had a clear view of the man. No worries there. His team would easily neutralize him. Rumour had it that he was some type of mechanic. How far the mighty had fallen, thought O'Neill. Once the woman of spies, international gun runners, power players, now on her way to dotage, the partner of some grease monkey in a little village at the edge of the world. Perhaps, he'd be doing her a favour by ending her obvious decline. The thought made him chuckle.

Included with the photos, the associates provided all the details they had gathered. O' Neill read the report. The boy's schedule was easily followed: school, football practice, sometimes helping in the garage, hanging with his mates. The woman helped with the business, kept the books, raised the boy, not too many women friends. She and the man kept to themselves for the most part. They were well liked in the community but had no close ties. O'Donovan was their name. She was using Fionnuala as her given name these days. He said the name aloud as he finished perusing the documents, "Fionnuala O'Donovan. You can call yourself whatever you like, but I know who you are!"

"This is grand, boys!" O'Neill clearly reveling in the discovery. "Time to celebrate." He grabbed the bottle of Bushmills, poured generous drinks for them all, and toasted to the future.

_"Slainte!"_ The glasses clinked. The stage was set. They had a long night ahead of them, planning for a siege.

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He sat amid a pile of clothes. He had searched through his dresser, the laundry pile, every place he could imagine. His frustration was mounting as the minutes ticked by. The sound of slamming doors and loud expressions of anger eventually attracted Fi's attention. "Lose something or is this your idea of redecorating?" Fi asked as she surveyed Charlie's wardrobe strewn about his room.

"My IRA shirt. Have you seen it?" Charlie looked at her hoping she could solve the mystery. Fi merely shook her head. "Maybe it got mixed up with Da's things." He headed toward the other bedroom intending to continue his search.

Fi followed close behind. She made a half-hearted attempt at assisting him. "Just choose another shirt for now so you're not late. I'll keep looking."

"It must be here." Charlie did not seem ready to surrender as he peered through the wardrobe and even checked under the bed.

Fiona crossed her arms. "Maybe you left it somewhere. No need for all this drama." She clearly wanted Charlie to drop the hunt, be on his way.

"This may surprise you, ma, but I'm not in the habit of taking off my clothes elsewhere." Charlie continued opening and closing drawers as he made this pronouncement, his irritation mounting.

"Good to know." Fi winked at her son, attempting to lighten the mood. "Keep it that way for at least another ten years."

Charlie grimaced, "Ma! You are so embarrassing! I can't believe..." Charlie's words were interrupted as Michael entered the house returning from a morning run.

Sweaty and slightly breathless, Michael took a large swig of water before entering the fray. He observed Fi's uneasy stance and Charlie's sense of annoyance. "Anyone care to fill me in?" It didn't take a spy's keen powers of observation to see that there was some point of contention.

"My IRA shirt is missing. I was planning on wearing it today. But it's nowhere!" Charlie tried to bring Michael up to speed on the situation. Michael caught Fi's eye as Charlie made this pronouncement. She quickly diverted her gaze.

"Well, unless the fairies slipped in during the night, whisking it away, it's bound to turn up." Fi slid out of the room, anxious to return to the washing up, anxious to avoid any possible interrogation from Michael.

Michael watched her exit, and then turned his attention to Charlie. "Better get moving or you'll have more important worries than a missing shirt." He looked at his watch. Charlie grumbled but heeded the warning. He moved quickly noting his father's odd expression as he approached his mother. He looked somewhat angry. As he reached the door, he heard Michael question his mother, "Fairies?" His expression indicated he found no humour in her suggestion. Fi did not respond, she simply stared back at Michael, her body rigid. They both turned to watch Charlie leave. Charlie has a sense that there was more going on than simply a missing shirt. He just was unsure exactly what it could be.

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Michael waited until Charlie was well on his way before revisiting the subject. "What did you do with the shirt, Fi?"

"You think I have something to do with it?" She glanced his way. "Probably buried in a pile somewhere in his room." She avoided Michael's accusing stare.

Michael gently grabbed her hands and turned her body, forcing her to look directly at him. He didn't ask the question again but she could easily read his expression. She sighed, her body slumping slightly. "It was the fairies comment, wasn't it, that gave me away?" He nodded. "It's in the outside rubbish bin. I was planning on setting fire to it after breakfast."

"You really think that's a reasonable solution? Seems to me a bit of an overreaction." Michael's original annoyance turned to concern. Fi was clearly upset. She found it difficult to disguise her emotions. The shirt dredged up memories best left behind. "That shirt truly goes 'missing', Charlie is going to have more than a few questions. Talk about waving a red flag, Fi." He spoke gently hoping she could set aside her emotions; develop a tactical approach to the problem that did not involve fire or scissors. Both were silent, Michael giving Fi some time to process the warning, Fi thinking the shirt may be the catalyst for action.

"Maybe it's time, Michael." His soothing tone prompted her to embrace a more rational approach. "He'll be fifteen in less than a month. Maybe it's time he knows the truth. We can't keep it from him forever."

Michael swept a hand over his face, then placed his hands on his hips, as he so often did when processing an uncomfortable decision. "Not yet..."

Fi interrupted, "When then? How will we know when it's the 'right' time?" Now it was her turn to provide some unpleasant truths. "Maybe it's time to broach the subject of the IRA...my past...lots of families have similar associations here, some looser than others. We could explain our reservations about the shirt, Dublin, help him understand our well-founded fears."

"Not yet. Once that conversation begins, we don't know where it will lead, how he'll react." Fi listened carefully. "He's got his Junior Certificate examinations coming up. You really want to go down this road now?" Michael had a valid point. "Once that's done, if you think it's time, we'll talk to him. Okay?" He placed a hand on her cheek, brushing it with his fingertips. He took her silence for agreement. "Just a little longer."

A decision was reached. They had waited over ten years, what difference could a few weeks possibly make. A kiss sealed the deal.

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When he returned from school, he found the house deserted, the shirt found, freshly laundered and folded on his bed. Alone with his thoughts, he had a nagging sense that something was amiss. Ever since he broached the subject of going to Dublin, there was an undercurrent of unease in his household, or maybe it was just within himself. He couldn't pinpoint the reason, maybe it was his imagination. One thing for certain, that photo, the one he saw at the bookshop, gnawed at him. At first, he discounted the resemblance. But now as he reflected on learning of his mother's apparent knowledge of explosives and the continuing t-shirt issues, he began to wonder if there was some connection. Had his ma had a moment of teenage foolishness? Or, was there some distant relative with an unsavory past the family sought to keep hidden? This could be a great tale for the lads!

He started a Google search, beginning with that photo, leading to other photos, articles, and books of the time. He immersed himself in the project keeping it away from his parents, somehow understanding that there were family secrets buried within. He eventually stumbled onto a website that sought to "out" those with former IRA ties. That's when he saw it. A full-face photo, almost a mug shot, of one "Fiona Glenanne". There were Glenannes in the family, and it did look like a younger version of his mother, or perhaps a close relative. It dawned on him that he hadn't actually seen too many photos of either of his parents or their relatives in their younger days. The birthdate listed was not his mother's either, an older cousin, perhaps? This Glenanne woman was from Belfast, his ma from Dublin. His mind was in overdrive. There must be a connection.

He began to read the list of activities attributed to the woman in the photo. She was a suspected arms dealer, possible ties to bank robberies in the 90's, a known bomber with a long time affiliation with the Irish Republican Army. A substantial list of bombings that she was suspected of participating in accompanied her name. The crimes spanned the globe: Northern Ireland, England, several places on the continent, even in the US-in Miami, Florida. It listed her known associates; Charlie didn't recognize any of the names, but included known IRA terrorists, international arms dealers, and even American spies! It included an Interpol file with an orange label indicating the potential danger posed by this woman. The article ended with her current location: Last seen September 2013, Miami, Florida. Presumed dead. Apparently, she disappeared after a bombing at the Miami Herald building which resulted in the death of a Michael Westen, CIA operative, and James Kendrick, criminal mastermind. She was suspected of being involved in the destruction of the building and the resulting deaths. Charlie wondered exactly whose side this woman was on. She sounded seriously disturbed!

After reading all this information, he was sure that whoever the woman in the photo was, this was not his mother. Fionnuala O'Donovan was not neither political, nor violent. Neither of his parents had ever raised a hand in anger. Disputes were settled with natural consequences, disapproving looks, and copious amounts of dialogue! His mother spent her days helping out his da at the garage, sometimes assisting with mechanical tasks but more often than not doing the mundane tasks of making appointments and keeping the accounts- his da was a bit hopeless with money! When not in the shop, she ran the messages, kept the cottage tidy, and took care of him. She never missed one of his football matches. Not one for cheering, her expressive eyes told the tale of the day whether they shone with pride over his accomplishments or shot daggers at the opposition, or more specifically at the rude, obnoxious parents of the opposition. She occasionally looked like she was mentally dismembering some of the more outspoken ones! Charlie knew his ma had a temper but she was more likely to spew a bit of venom or give the rest of the household the silent treatment rather than any physical retaliation. He and his da had learned to recognize the signs and keep a low profile until the wave passed. Michael was a master at reading her moods and usually was able to diffuse them either with a look, a compromise solution, or an embrace. This was hardly the life of a former criminal with a penchant for violence!

The woman he was reading about seemed to solve all her problems with a sniper rifle or a block of C-4! There was a physical resemblance between the two women but that appeared to be the extent of the similarities. Still, he was intrigued and he did want to find out if there was a family connection! He shut off the computer, his mind reeling with questions, hoping his parents had the answers he sought.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Everlasting Present Chapter Six**

It was Michael's turn to cook which was always a treat. He tended to make foods from exotic locales and today's meal was no exception. He put the finishing touches on the dish, ladled it onto a serving platter, and carried it to the table. Fiona followed with a basket of bread and the family settled down to their tea.

"Smells great! What is it?" Charlie enjoyed these meals immensely. It was like taking a mini holiday without all the packing. Charlie had never asked why Michael had a penchant for diverse cuisine; he just assumed he found recipes on the Internet.

Michael placed the dishes on the table. "It's a Persian recipe. Supposed to be goat but I substituted lamb."

"Goat?" Charlie grimaced at the thought. "Whatever." He began scooping out large portions for himself while Fi and Michael exchanged looks. He seemed to be a bottomless pit these days. Seconds were already on his plate before Michael and Fiona had managed more than a few bites.

"You might want to slow down. Actually chew the food," Michael watched as Charlie swiftly cleared his plate. Fiona made a mental note to increase the amount she usually purchased at the market. It was only a matter of time before a shopping excursion would need to be planned. Charlie seemed to be growing taller each day.

As he took his last mouthful, they expected him to dash off; instead he surprised them by initiating a rather unexpected topic of conversation. He tried to sound nonchalant as he broached the subject but his tapping foot and his interest in his empty plate put Michael on guard. "So, the other day there was some talk about asking our families about their experiences, you know, when they were younger especially about The Troubles."

"The Troubles?" Michael spoke quickly as he watched Fi's body stiffen. "Not sure we have much to tell. Most of the unpleasantness happened in the north." He glanced at Fi who stopped eating, staring at her plate, uncomfortable with this topic that always dredged up unpleasant memories. Michael, the spy, always had an easier time lying. He tried to keep Charlie focused on him, engaging him in conversation, hoping Fiona could shrug it aside or remove herself from the room.

"I've been reading about it. Fighting in the streets. The British Army setting up roadblocks. Barricades put up in residential areas. Checkpoints and body searches..." Charlie spoke quickly, his heart racing, as he tried to glean information. As he continued talking, Fiona's mind drifted back in time. She tried to avoid dwelling on the memories of her past. Growing up in a war zone had left an indelible mark. She would never forget the sounds of gunfire erupting outside her front door. Dropping to the floor praying no ricocheting bullets or shrapnel would find you or the people you loved became commonplace. Then there was the silence that followed, the oppressive silence, as people emerged to survey the damage and the dead. The worst was the constant worry. Her father was outspoken. He had drawn the attention of others who wanted him silenced, permanently. He was noble, brave, fearless, his beliefs, his principles driving his actions. She was not so brave or fearless at the time. She felt powerless living in this daily nightmare.

"What?" Charlie's voice snapped her out of her reverie.

"You're a million miles away, Ma. I was asking if you knew anyone affected by the troubles. Any family in Belfast? A cousin?" Charlie added, "Maybe a sister you haven't mentioned?" This last comment was made with a slight chuckle in his voice.

Fiona turned pale as milk. Her thoughts turned to Claire choking on her own blood cut down by a British soldier's stray bullet, dying on a Belfast street just off The Falls. The last day in her life when she felt powerless. A decision was made that day that altered the course of her life. She buried her sister, buried the life she thought to have. She was determined never again be a victim, but be an agent for all those victims' quests for revenge.

Michael snapped, "Charlie!" Charlie looked apologetic. Caught up in the moment he had forgotten about his ma's sister, Claire. Her picture was displayed on the mantelpiece. She had died young, another "accidental" death. His family seemed to be rife with relatives dying of less than natural causes.

"Sorry, Ma." His voice soft as he covered her hand with his own.

Michael started to get suspicious that there was more to Charlie's probing questions. "What's this all about, Charlie? Why this sudden interest in Irish history?" Michael glared, his demeanor serious. The change in his tone and his posture brought Fiona's focus to the present. Michael watched Fiona's transformation; her protective exterior shell was back, hiding the pain within. She lifted her eyes to meet Charlie's, a hardness there that made him uncomfortable.

Charlie could no longer meet their gaze. He spoke in a hushed voice. "When we were in Dublin, we came across this book. There was a photograph. It was some kind of riot in Belfast." He stopped. Both of his parents watched him intently. "There was this girl. She looked a lot like ma." He looked at Fiona quickly then turned away, slightly embarrassed. "She was throwing a petrol bomb." Michael and Fiona exchanged expressions of worry. "I thought maybe she was some black sheep of the family no one wanted to talk about so I did some research. Found information about her, or at least I think it's her. Her name was Fiona Glenanne. Think she's dead. Do you know her?" Charlie looked troubled. He wasn't trying to cause anyone pain. He just needed some answers. He looked to Michael then Fiona, seeing something indefinable in their expressions. He sincerely wished he had never broached this subject.

Fiona's voice was barely a whisper. "I used to. But she's been gone for many years."

Charlie waited expecting more.

"Happy now? You got the answer to your question." Michael's attitude gave Charlie pause. He had never really seen this aspect of his da. He sheepishly slunk out of the room. Michael went over to the cabinet, poured one very large glass of whiskey into a tumbler, and handed it to Fi. She downed it quickly, putting her glass out for another. Michael complied. No words passed between them. No words were necessary.

Fiona wordlessly left the room, entering the privacy of her bedchamber, shutting the door, shutting out the world, as she dealt with her inner daemons. She stared blankly, her eyes unfocused, looking but not seeing. Michael followed close behind. He joined her, sitting close beside her, taking her hand, as he tried to find the right words.

"Fiona..." The name, a rarely spoken secret between them, used when emotion overrode everything. "It doesn't mean..." He began.

"It does, Michael." She knew what he was about to say. There was no ambiguity about this situation, no avoiding the facts before them. "It means that time has come, as we always knew that it would." She looked at him, tears in her eyes, but determination there, as well.

"What will we tell him?" Michael could barely meet her gaze.

"Just what we decided all those years ago." Pain evident on her face. "The truth." Simply stated though it was far from simple. She rolled her eyes, shook her head slightly, feeling the irony of the situation. "I always imagined this conversation starting because we needed to tell him about you."

Michael cracked a weak smile. "So did I." He squeezed her hand. "In the end it doesn't matter. No matter where the stories start about you and me, they end in the same place. Here."

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, "Will he hate us?" That thought more than all the havoc she had caused during her lifetime weighed heavily on her mind.

"Don't all teenagers hate their parents? We'll be among good company." Michael tried to lighten the mood.

"Don't be daft, Michael. We have a bit more, let's say 'history', than most parents." Fi pointed out the obvious.

"Where should we start? How should we start?" Regardless of how often he had imagined this upcoming conversation, he dreaded the eventuality.

"Start at the beginning. I'll start with 'My name is Fiona Glenanne. I used to be an IRA bomber.' Then you can jump in, 'My name is Michael Westen. I used to be an American spy.' Jaysus! He's going to be in therapy for years." Fiona covered her face with her hands, unable to even look at Michael.

Michael slowly rubbed her back trying to soothe her in some small measure. He searched for words of comfort, soon accosted by a memory. His thoughts turned to Madeline. His mother had made plenty of mistakes over the years, too many to enumerate, but in the end, none of that was important. It wasn't her final sacrifice that Michael often reflected upon. It was the years before that. She never gave up on him, always had faith in him, even when his own anger kept him distant. Her love was unconditional. It took being a parent himself to truly understand that. Thoughts of Madeline brought a smile to his lips. He suddenly knew what to say. He wrapped his arms around Fiona, finding her hands; he gently lifted her, needing to look her in the eyes. Fiona still wanted to look away, but Michael cradled her face. "He'll be fine." He said this with confidence, no hesitation in his voice.

She noted his air of assurance, wishing she could share his belief, "How can you be sure?"

"He has a mother that loves him." He hesitated, letting his words seep into her mind. "Sometimes that's all you need. It worked for me."

Fiona smiled, "Madeline. I miss her, too." They spent a few moments lost in thought, remembering this woman who had impacted both of their lives. Fiona finally broke reverie, breaking their embrace, standing up with purpose. She wiped the tears from her face before stating, "Nice sentiment, Michael. But as I recall you left to join the army at seventeen, rarely contacting Madeline until circumstances forced your hand. Not a ringing endorsement." She appeared composed now, ready to tackle the conversation. "Let's get this over with." She stood up calling out, "Charlie, we need to talk." That day in the future had arrived.

She smiled weakly as he entered the room clearly uncomfortable about being summoned. "I'm really sorry." The words uttered as soon as he spotted his parents. Michael and Fiona settled themselves on the sofa, indicating he should take the nearby chair.

"It's not your fault," Michael began, "there are things we haven't told you. Things we wanted to tell you when you were older. Much older." He looked at Fi when he spoke those last words.

Fiona steeled herself for what was to come. "You asked about Fiona Glenanne, if I knew her." Charlie nodded, no longer wanting the answers he had sought, uncomfortable with this change in his parents' demeanor. "I'm Fiona Glenanne, or I was, until about eleven years ago." Charlie's eyes began to well up. His bottom lip began to quiver, not wanting to hear this declaration, not wanting to believe. His mind jumped to the profile of the woman he had researched, a woman with a long list of crimes, even murder. He tried to reconcile what he knew about the woman in question with what he experienced with his ma. It made no sense. How could they possibly be the same person? He looked to Michael for answers, assuming he would be just as shocked by this confession. Michael simply looked at Fi with love and concern. He knew! Charlie looked away, his head reeling with these shocking revelations.

Fi watched Charlie's changing expression as he grappled with his new knowledge. Now that the truth was before them, it was time for full disclosure. Fi was ready to tackle the subject hoping she could make Charlie understand the necessity for a lifetime of secrets. She remembered Michael's words from long ago, _"In the world of deception spies inhabit, the truth takes on a peculiar power. The truth, the verifiable, __unvarnished truth, becomes the ultimate bargaining chip. The irony is that the only time you can afford to play that chip is when everything is on the line."_

She hoped the truth would be enough to preserve the family they had created and nurtured all these years. Her heart heavy, she began what she thought might be the most difficult discussion of her life. "Charlie, _a chuisle, _I need to explain_..."_

Before she could finish that thought, Michael and Fiona heard a sound, a sound they were unfortunately quite familiar with, a sound they hadn't heard in years, the sound of cars racing to a siege.


	7. Chapter 7

**The Everlasting Present Chapter Seven**

They heard the cars approaching long before the headlights could be seen. Years of training, years of experience as covert operatives in the field heightened their sense of approaching danger. They quickly shed their adopted personas, reverting to those from their past. There was no time to question if their skills were still sharp enough to confront the approaching threat; they relied on instinct, confident in their teamwork.

"Sounds like two cars." Michael stood rigid, straining to assess the threat.

"Moving fast. They'll be here soon." She looked around the cottage taking stock of what they had at their disposal. Lights were doused throughout the house.

"Who's coming?" Charlie asked, startled by his parents' odd reaction.

Fiona shook her head slowly and spoke in an emotionless voice. "I have no idea." She quickly closed the drapes, moving a corner aside to survey the darkness.

Michael grabbed a mallet he kept in the nearby cabinet in case a situation like this was ever to arise. He began smashing though the plaster and drywall of the hallway.

"Da! What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?" Charlie was completely bewildered. No answers were forthcoming as a tactical defense strategy was implemented.

"Michael, we've got about two minutes, maybe three." Fiona knew their preparation time was limited as the sound of racing motors grew louder.

"I'm working as fast as I can." He broke through the wall, a large metal box embedded within. Charlie's eyes were wide, totally perplexed at the mounting chaos around him, plaster dust falling like snow. Michael lifted the box, set it the floor, and threw open the lid.

Fiona's eyes were fixed on the road, her eyes straining to catch sight of those approaching. "Less than a minute."

Michael grabbed a sniper rifle from the box quickly loading it, the action a familiar one, muscle memory aiding the motion.

"Where did you get that thing?" Charlie stared at the cache of weapons. "There are guns in the wall? Are you serious?" Neither adult responded, both focused on the unseen enemy, preparing for the unknown.

"Fi..." He tossed the rifle. Fiona caught it in midair, pressed the barrel into the glass, ready to receive her approaching 'guests'. Michael had a stockpile of weapons and other potential defenses hidden within the wall. Weapons that he had hoped would never be needed. The cache included several handguns. He placed one at his back, several clips of ammunition in his pockets, and tucked another in Fi's waistband.

"They're here." Fiona gave Michael a sideways glance.

"Who's here? What the bloody hell is happening?" Charlie received no answer to his question as his parents sprung to action.

"Charlie, get in the bath, crouch down as low as you can. Don't leave it until I tell you. You got that?" Michael barked out orders in a strange accent as he prepped the weapons. Charlie stood immobile, wide-eyed and fearful. "Move! Now!" Michael's voice and stance left no doubt as to the seriousness of the situation.

Charlie's mouth was dry. No sound escaped his lips but he slowly moved toward the back of the house. He wanted to obey his da, do what was asked of him, but his body simply would not comply. An overwhelming sense of dread washed over him, it was if he was caught in one of his nightmares. He had a recurring dream of people chasing him, a panicked sense of attempting to escape an unknown threat. Whenever the dream occurred he felt the need to be close to his parents. Now, reality had delivered a similar situation. His instincts told him to stay. Whatever was going to happen, he needed to be with the people he loved, the people who had always protected him. He stood in the shadows of the hallway, keeping his parents within sight.

Two cars stopped in the front garden. Four men exited, all were armed. They used the vehicles for cover, ready for battle. Fiona and Michael analyzed the scene before them. The figures were indistinguishable, their identities unknown to those in the cottage. It was difficult to engage a shade, difficult to know what to expect, how to react. The silence did not last long as a shouted name broke its spell.

"Fiona Glenanne!" A voice from the past rang out. "Come out, come out wherever you are!" His voice sounded almost jolly as he taunted his prey.

"O'Neill." Fiona whispered the name. She rued the day so long ago in the past when their paths first crossed. In her youthful folly, she was too outspoken, too angry. She wore her emotions as if it were a cloak, covering her heart yet visible for the world to see. Her diatribe against an oppressive regime was constantly spilling forth. Her thirst for revenge was common knowledge. Thomas O'Neill felt he had found the perfect partner for his plans. What very few of her associates at the time realized was that fiery exterior belied an inner core of empathy, compassion, and moral center. Her focus was less about taking down an entire government, more about preventing that power from destroying individuals and those they loved. O'Neill had little regard for others. He had a need for glory and power of his own. Their conflict was inevitable. Only one would persevere in the quest. Fiona had thwarted his plans twice before, the last time with significant help from Michael, though she was often hesitant to give him credit. Now, O'Neill had resurfaced, unexpected and unwanted.

Michael nodded, then stiffened at the name and the memory. "I thought he was dead."

"Apparently, not." Fiona peered through the darkness. "Reports of death can be somewhat misleading as I'm sure you're aware."

Michael shuddered inwardly as he remembered his first encounter with O'Neill. He had almost lost Fiona—permanently. His own self-centered need to clear his name, get back in the good graces of the CIA, and regain his former life as a spy had shrouded his judgment. He had not figured out yet that Fiona was his life, the only life he truly wanted. At times, he sincerely wished he could turn the clock back. He wished that after O'Neill was neutralized and Strickler was eliminated, he had embraced a life in Miami with Fi at his side. He could have avoided so much pain for himself and those around him.

"How did he find out where you were?" Michael surveyed the landscape, mentally assessing the looming threat and all available options.

Fiona shrugged her shoulders, unconcerned at the moment on how Thomas O'Neill had discovered their location, intently interested in exactly what his intentions were now that he had arrived. "Should I invite him in for tea? Have a chat?" Fi's sarcasm was not lost on Michael as she adjusted the scope of her rifle.

A voice pierced the darkness, a voice all too familiar. "Darlin', it's been way too long. Been thinking about you all these years. Countin' the days before our reunion." He laughed as he said these words, his minions joining in.

"Damn. It's too dark. There's no night scope. I don't have a clear shot." Fiona kept her voice low, her eyes never leaving her target.

"Fi. Get Charlie out the back. I'll keep them occupied." Michael wanted them out of harm's way should O'Neill open fire.

"There are four of them, Michael. I'm not leaving!" Fiona was adamant. He knew it would be pointless to argue with her.

O'Neill's voice rang out from the darkness. "Fiona, I know the boy's in there. Wouldn't want him to come to any harm..."

"Michael!" Fi turned momentarily to face him. "Charlie..." Fiona's concern mounted, not for herself, but for her son.

At the sound of his name, Charlie stepped out of the shadows. Michael watched his approach but made no reprimand. "He's not coming in here." Michael exuded confidence. He had no intention to allow O'Neill anywhere near his family. "I have an idea. Charlie, I need you to get that remote control car you got a couple of Christmases ago." Michael spoke to Charlie directly.

"My remote control car? Are you bloody serious? You're going to fight those guys off with a toy? They have guns!" Charlie was both frightened and skeptical.

"You have a better idea!" Michael had very little patience for debate; his demands were concise and clear. "Go!" Michael had been in situations similar to this before. His mind quickly adapting, plans forming.

"Why don't we call the Garda?" Charlie pulled out his mobile, ready to dial '999', seeking help for this invasion.

Michael grabbed it away before the call could be completed. His face serious, "We'll be dead before they ever get here. Trust me. Do what I asked." Charlie had never seen that expression on his father's face before. He didn't like it. It was almost as if he transformed into a different person, a person that he didn't know. It made him uncomfortable, scared, if the truth were told. He turned toward his bedroom to do what was asked of him.

"Want to let me in on your plan?" Fiona could see the wheels turning in his mind.

"I'm working on it." He returned to the metal box, shuffled through the remaining contents, finally uncovering what he was looking for. Charlie emerged from his room carrying the requested object.

Fiona watched as O'Neill lifted his arm, holding something she could not quite make out.

Michael had all the pieces in place. He placed a block of C-4 onto the toy, added a detonator, attaching it all with duct tape. Charlie watched unsure of what most of those things were and why Michael was wasting time fiddling with an old toy when there were armed men outside their door but he held his tongue.

She glanced at Michael's creation, understanding his plan. "That better not be for here. I've burned down two houses in my lifetime. The third time is definitely not the charm."

Her attention then turned back to O'Neill. She watched as he clicked on a lighter, a small flame appeared.

Michael went to the side of the house, opened the window a crack, placing the makeshift bomb on the ground. Charlie was right behind him. He realized his father was going to attempt to steer his creation somewhere, not understanding exactly what it was, or its purpose. "Let me do that." He took the controller away from Michael. "You're terrible at it. Where do you want it to go?"

While Michael was giving Charlie instructions, Fiona was still focused on O'Neill. He seemed to be enjoying drawing out the drama, hoping to make her squirm.

"Darlin', I have something for you. Something to remind you of the old days!" Fiona saw what he held as he used the lighter to ignite a Molotov cocktail, ready to hurl it toward the house. The flame provided Fiona with all the light she needed. She took the shot, shattering the bottle before it could do any harm. O'Neill's dismay was evident as a string of expletives flowed from his mouth. His words were soon drowned out as the toy had reached its target. Michael watched as Charlie guided it under their own car parked on the gravel near the front door between them and O'Neill's men.

"Ready?" Michael looked at Fiona who nodded. She began to pull Charlie toward the back, preparing to go out through the window. Michael pressed the detonator and rushed to join them. A tremendous explosion rocked the house, sending pieces of their car raining down on the property and their assailants. Charlie was speechless, his legs momentarily refused to move.

"You had questions," Fiona looked stern, "well, there's one of your answers. We need to go! Now!" Charlie received the message. They crawled through the window, keeping to the trees as they made their way to the next property. Michael took the lead, Charlie in the middle, Fiona, sniper rifle slung over her shoulder, her Walther at the ready, remained at the rear. They may have eluded their predators temporarily but neither Michael nor Fiona believed that O'Neill would simply abandon his plan and skulk away. They were being hunted. The past, an unwanted guest, had arrived.


	8. Chapter 8

**The Everlasting Present Chapter Eight**

Charlie walked as if in a daze. He watched his father cut a trail that would be difficult for anyone to follow. He knew the landscape clearly giving them an advantage. He communicated wordlessly with his mother through a series of hand signals and gestures. She understood this code, making subtle changes in her movements. They occasionally stopped, remaining motionless, listening for any sign of a tail. This can't be happening; Charlie's mind was in turmoil.

He kept glancing at his ma, remembering all that he read. She held weapons as easily as she carried his lunch! He somehow wanted to believe she was not this Fiona Glenanne person but everything he was observing indicated she was telling the truth. She was a trained guerrilla with over fourteen years of experience in the IRA but how did his father have these skills? He wondered if perhaps he was in the Army, as well. He made a bomb and blew up their own car. Who does that? And now Michael was definitely leading their escape. He watched as his da made a continuous stream of decisions hoping to evade their hunters. He felt as if he had stumbled into some parallel universe. His parents looked the same but they were acting far from normal.

Arriving at the neighbors, Michael and Fiona regrouped, gathering Intel. It did not appear that they had been followed, but it was apparent to both that they needed to remove themselves from the area, assess the threat, and determine a way forward. A single light was seen in the McGee household; perhaps the telly was on in one of the bedrooms. A car was parked on the side of the house. Michael pointed to the car, then toward Fi and her weapon. She understood. She faced outward, guarding the perimeter, keeping Charlie behind her. Michael inched toward the vehicle, opened the door, and began pulling wires intent on bypassing the normal mode of ignition. The car sprung to life, the three quickly jumping in, speeding away before the confused owner had a chance to react.

"We're stealing a car?" Charlie asked incredulously.

"We're not stealing a car. We're simply borrowing without asking. Old McGee would have said yes. We just saved him the trouble of coming to the door, offering us tea,..." Fiona's voice drifted off as she rationalized their actions. Charlie was not convinced.

Michael always had several exit strategies mentally prepared. There was always a chance, however remote it seemed, for someone from the past to resurface. For the time being, he planned on staying on the interior roads of the peninsula, few though they may be. They would keep away from the more heavily travelled ring road bordering the seacoast; instead they would head ever upward. There were several junctures through the mountain passes where roads splintered off in several directions. Michael concentrated on the road ahead weighing his options.

"Who's your man, there, the one trying to kill us? Panic could be heard in Charlie's voice.

"His name is Thomas O'Neill. We had a disagreement a while back." Fiona provided no further details.

"He tried to kill you, Fi. I'd say that's a bit more than a disagreement." Michael calmly increased his speed, continually glancing at the rear view mirror looking for any sign O'Neill had picked up their trail.

"He tried to kill you?" Charlie's confusion continued to mount.

Fiona focused on the road behind them. "Well, it was more that he tried to sell me to some boyos who wanted me dead." Charlie's eyes grew ever wider, his mouth gaped open. "It's a long story best told over a nice cuppa once we get wherever we're going." Fiona gave Charlie a weak smile, patting his knee in a comforting manner. Seconds later that smile evaporated, the tone of her voice changed dramatically. "Michael."

"How far?" Years of working together had given them a way to communicate using few words but relaying much information.

"Less than a kilometer. Gaining fast. Damn. They must have spotted our headlights. There's no one else traveling about." Fiona looked at the surrounding countryside hoping for an alternate escape route. Unfortunately, McGee's car was an older model compact. It was serving the purpose of emergency transportation but had a serious lack of versatility.

"Anything you can do to slow them down?" Michael was counting on Fiona's resourcefulness.

Fiona started rummaging through her handbag and through the car itself. "Luckily, old McGee isn't the tidy sort. I believe I can whip something up, give us a bit more breathing room." Fiona got to work. Charlie watched her movements, unsure exactly what she was doing. She was ripping pieces of upholstery from the seats. She broke into a huge grin when she spotted some hand cleaner, and a few other automotive or cleaning products; Charlie couldn't identify them in the darkness.

While Fiona was focused on her task, Michael divided his energies on both the road ahead and those approaching from behind. Directing his comments to Charlie, Michael finally spoke, "Lesson number one: If you find yourself about to be involved in a car chase, it's best to select a vehicle with precision handling and speed. It helps to minimize distractions so it's best to engage without your family in the car. And finally, choose an area with wide, straight roads. Try to avoid rural Ireland."

"Seriously, Michael, you have to choose this moment to impart your vast knowledge." Fiona sounded slightly annoyed as she put the finishing touches on creation. She displayed the completed object, savoring the moment, a flashback to her past. "Ready, when you are."

"We need some covering fire, Fi." Michael realized that they were outmanned and outgunned. There were four armed men speeding toward them.

Fiona understood the point but their resources were extremely limited at the moment. She wasn't exactly sure what Michael was thinking. "Michael, there's no way I can throw this thing with any chance of it actually landing on the target and distract the driver with a few bullets."

"I know. We need a little help." Michael grew silent as Fiona realized what he was suggesting, the obvious solution to their current predicament. She turned her gaze from Michael toward Charlie just as Michael did the same through the rear view mirror.

"Me? Are you completely daft? I don't know how to shoot!" Charlie sounded somewhat panicked.

"Obviously, we have failed you in some aspects of life. All those times we headed to the gun range, we should have forced you to come instead of allowing you to play video games with Donal." Fiona noted. "Ah, well, never too late to learn." Fiona took her Walther out of her waistband, checked the clip, readying it for the task ahead. Then, she handed it to Charlie who clearly was having difficulty with the entire situation.

She saw the look of fear in his eyes. She smiled reassuringly as Charlie took the weapon from her hands, noting its weight. "_A stoirin_, when I lean out the window to throw this thing, " indicating her improvised device," I need you to shoot toward the car, press the trigger with force, several times, if possible."

"I'm not sure I can do this. I'm not sure I can aim this thing." Charlie knew his parents were counting on him, unsure that he could actually perform the action.

"You won't know unless you try. Anyway, its less important that you actually hit anything than it is to give the driver something else to focus on, other than my wee surprise." She ended with, "I have faith in you, Charlie. Just do your best."

Charlie felt a bit comforted. This was the ma he knew, forever supportive and encouraging, the one he tried never to disappoint. He swallowed hard, then nodded.

"We're ready, Michael." Fi shared a smile with Charlie. He was part of this no matter how she wished otherwise, much better to be an active participant than a helpless victim. Besides, he was a Westen, it was in his DNA- or so she hoped.

Michael waited several moments until he reached the part of the road well suited to the operation ahead. The car began to slow. Fiona recognized this as the signal for the fun to begin. The old adrenaline rush was back, just as she remembered. She looked Charlie squarely in the eye as Michael handled the precision driving necessary for success. "On the count of three..." She pushed the levers lowering the windows as she spoke. Charlie nodded, pale as milk.

"One, two, three!" Both Fiona and Charlie poked out the side windows of the vehicle. Charlie held the gun with both hands, firing it as Fiona explained. His shots went wild but in the correct direction, allowing Fiona a small window of opportunity. The incendiary device was thrown with precision; years of practice had perfected this skill first learned on the streets of Belfast. It landed on the windscreen, bursting into flames, causing the driver to momentarily panic. A moment was all that was needed. The car began to swerve, a deadly move on a winding, mountain road. The driver attempted to correct his position, but to no avail. The car began to spin, hurtling toward the precipice, toppling over the side.

Michael watched the scene, speeding up once he realized that one threat had been neutralized. The other car carrying O'Neill and one other slowed down during the episode but now seemingly refueled with vengeance quickly picked up the chase. This was far from over.

Charlie's mind was somewhere between jubilation and horror. He had done what was asked of him but he had not expected the outcome. He thought they were just trying to stop the car from following them. He never would have imagined the aftermath, the car plunging off the side of the road. He wondered about the occupants, concerned they had been injured, or worse, relieved that one less car was in pursuit. Fiona saw the confusion in Charlie's face, unable to offer any appropriate words, understanding he needed to sort this out himself, knowing they were not out of danger yet, and that more might still be required. She smiled, patted his knee, and held out her hand to take the gun, returning it to the small of her back.

Michael realized this chase could not go on much longer. That fireball would surely be noticed. Someone may have already contacted the Garda. They needed a new plan before this situation became even bloodier, perhaps involving innocents. O'Neill would have no qualms about that eventuality, but Michael would prefer limiting collateral damage.

O'Neill was gaining on them. His vehicle more aptly suited to pursuit than old McGee's. Michael had an idea. He recalled hiking this area a few summers back. He and Fiona had stumbled upon on old stone cottage, long since abandoned. It had the look of one of the many famine cottages that dotted the landscape. This particular one was a bit high up, but perhaps some desperate family had tried to make a go of it. This ruin might just provide his family with a chance for salvation. It would provide them with some cover in a firefight, some safety for Charlie. If there was to be a last stand, this was their best, perhaps their only option. He veered off the main road hoping his memory was reliable, understanding he may have signed their own death warrants if it wasn't. A calculated risk, yes, but he was no stranger to making difficult choices.

Fiona remarked on the altered course. "I assume this means you have a new plan, not just a whim to do some trekking."

"Remember that old cottage we spotted along the ridge line last year." Fiona nodded. "Thought might be a place to end this."

"Well, I like our odds. Two of us against two of them. Any suggestions on where we can stash Charlie until this blows over?" Fiona was very reluctant to have Charlie nearby should gunfire erupt.

"You're not 'stashing' me anywhere. I am staying with you! " Charlie's statement seemed nonnegotiable.

Michael didn't respond. There was no way they could hide Charlie effectively. O'Neill was too close. He would spot any passenger exiting the vehicle, tracking him down, providing O'Neill with leverage. They must remain together. It was apparent Michael did not intend to stop. Fiona understood but that did not deter her from raising another thought. "Of course, there is another play here."

Michael got the message. "No, Fiona, there isn't. This is the play." His voice was firm and commanding allowing for no discussion.

"Fine. We'll try it your way first." Fiona was not easily swayed. "But if things go badly, you and Charlie get the hell out of there as quickly as you can. I'll take care of myself."

Michael was quiet, realizing it was pointless to argue, determined that option would never be employed as long as he had breath in his body. Michael gunned the engine, intent on reaching the destination and establishing defenses before O'Neill arrived. The race was on!


	9. Chapter 9

**The Everlasting Present Chapter Nine**

The ruin was just up ahead. No paved drive led to the door. Michael left the road, praying the land here was rocky, boggy soil would severely hamper his plan, but not so rocky that the undercarriage would be damaged in the attempt. The car tyres remained in motion, the surface firm but heavily pitted, as Michael raced toward the shack. He swung the car round the back, using the building as a barrier, protecting their only means of escape. As soon as the car came to a halt, all three piled out, entering what was left of the cottage. It had three partially standing stone walls. The roof long gone, the original thatch rotted away or burned by a former landlord after evicting its penniless tenants. The remains of a lone window stood along the front wall. Fiona set up her sniper rifle there, wishing Michael had not left the other back at the house. Michael gave Charlie one of the loaded handguns, just in case. He told Charlie exactly where to position himself. It was a spot especially well fortified, bordered by stone walls and behind a pile of others from a collapsed section of the cottage.

"Keep your head down. Stay here unless I tell you otherwise. Don't get curious. Don't try to be heroic." Michael commanded. "We're going to get out of here but I need you to do exactly as I say. Are we clear?" Charlie was visibly shaken but he agreed to all of Michael's instructions. He moved to the section Michael indicated and tried to make himself as small as possible.

Michael got into position just as O'Neill arrived. "Time to get this party started." Fiona winked at Michael hoping to diffuse some of the tension. He gave her a quick smile, checked to be sure Charlie heeded his directions, and then turned his focus to the approaching threat.

O'Neill and his man parked the car parallel to the ruin, using it as a barricade. Guns emerged. Shots rang out from both sides. Fiona looked for a clear shot. The darkness, once again, impeding her view. Fiona almost was ready to set it aside, use something with more mobility, when O'Neill's minion was slightly illuminated by all the gunfire. Fiona did not waste the opportunity. A shot rang out. The target hit, collapsing at once. Their odds instantly improved. Michael continued a barrage of gunfire, as did O'Neill, precious rounds of ammunition dwindled. Fiona took another shot. This time, the rifle jammed, years of storage compromising its effectiveness. She tossed it aside, reached for her Walther, a comforting click accompanying its readiness. "Oh, how I have missed that sound." The comment barely a whisper was audible enough for Michael to hear, somehow comforting to know that Fi was Fi despite the peaceful intervening years.

Another round of gunfire, another assessment of their situation. Michael and Fiona had no idea what type of arsenal O'Neill had brought with him, what he might have left. He had come prepared for a siege, they were considerably less prepared, their supplies were running perilously low.

"What have you got?" Fiona had a clear grasp of their situation.

"Half a clip." Michael returned O'Neil's fire. "Quarter clip." O'Neill's latest shot landing extremely close to Michael's head. "Out". He moved toward Fiona's perch as she continued to fire. "New plan."

"A new plan sounds good right about now." Fiona knew that time was likely on O'Neill's side even after losing his crew. No operative attempts a siege without ample preparation. O'Neil was apt to have a great deal of firepower, including explosives. The stone ruin would provide little protection from a grenade or one of O'Neill's toys. She speculated that the only reason one had not been tossed their way is that O'Neill wanted her alive for whatever revenge scenario he had envisioned. At this point, she had to assume that even if she surrendered herself, her nemesis would likely eliminate her family. He would take pleasure in her pain. She had to trust that Michael would come up with a strategy before O'Neill grew desperate.

"You good?" Michael inquired about Fiona's current ammo supply.

"Enough for a battle." Then she continued, "Not enough for a war."

"I need you to distract him. Get him talking. Keep up the pressure. I'll slip out. Try to take him from behind." Michael's plan was sound. Fiona wanted to argue with him but had no better suggestion to offer. Michael prepared to leave, his eyes lingering on Fiona, then Charlie, before he disappeared. Fiona concentrated now on O'Neill.

"Bit far from Belfast. Take a wrong turn, O'Neill?" She shouted through the stillness.

"Since my recent incarceration I've been a bit of a rover. But I made it a point to drop in for a wee chat once I heard you had become a _culchie_." O'Neill oozed arrogance. Fiona longed to shoot him and be done with it. She knew she needed to follow the plan Michael set forth unless the opportunity for a clear shot presented itself.

She spotted Michael who had reached the trees flanking the combat area. She needed to keep O'Neill focused on her, giving Michael ample time to get himself in position.

"Are you missing prison life already? Is that why you've come? Or were you hopin' I'd put an end to your sorry existence? Piece of advice, O'Neill, head back up north before you join your crew in the afterlife." Fiona's voice feigned concern.

He chuckled, "Strong words for a _slibhin _holed up in a crumblin' _beag_ with a boy. Your fella there, stopped firing, hope I didn't make you a widow." As O'Neill uttered those words, Michael sprang out from the cover, running full speed toward the man. O'Neill tried to meet the threat with a bullet but was tackled to the ground before getting a shot off.

Charlie could no longer stand the suspense. He crept away from wall, keeping low, joining Fiona at the window. Bullets were no longer zooming by. The fight was now hand to hand, both men locked in a deadly struggle. O'Neill still held his gun. Michael exerting a great deal of effort to disarm him. Fiona watched the struggle waiting for the moment she might shoot the gun right out of O'Neill's hand giving Michel the advantage. It was torture remaining in the shadows as the combat raged on. Finally, Charlie pleaded, "Why don't you go out there and help him?"

"I am helping him." She refused to take her eyes from the conflict before her. "If either of us goes out there, we give O'Neill two additional targets. Our best weapon is patience. Michael will give me the shot." She sounded confident, more confident than she actually felt.

They watched the drama unfold before them. Both men intent on destroying the other, each waiting for the other to make a mistake. Michael had a death grip on O'Neill's wrist, trying to raise it above their heads. O'Neill was aware of the action; trying to resist with all the force he could muster. Inch by inch Michael pushed the arm upward. Fiona held her Walther steady. Finally, there it was, the shot she was waiting for! She pulled the trigger. A bullet found its mark, entering O'Neill's hand, immediately releasing the weapon he held. He keeled over in obvious pain. Michael kicked the dropped weapon far from their reach. Fiona moved toward the two men, her gun still pointed at O'Neill.

She picked up the dropped weapon, handing it to Michael, as she reached him. Charlie began to inch toward them.

"Nice shot, Fi!" Michael, slightly breathless, was always grateful for Fi's marksmanship. The years had taken a toll and his days of physical combat were clearly numbered. Despite his workout regimen he was still a man in his mid fifties. A fistfight with a younger opponent may have been his undoing but O'Neill was a contemporary.

"Good to know I haven't lost my touch." Fiona kept the barrel of her gun pointed at O'Neill. Michael followed suit.

O'Neill knelt on the ground, clutching his bleeding hand, finally spoke to his captor. "I should have known. Michael McBride, Westen, whatever the hell name you're usin'. I should have shot you back there in Miami when I had the chance." He stopped, and then began to laugh hysterically. "You're not dead! Brilliant! You fooled the whole bloody lot. Both of you hiding in plain sight." O'Neill calculated all that he could do with this bit of Intel. This could actually be worth more than his original plan. Killing Fiona Glenanne may have soothed his soul, revenge driving his thoughts and motivations, but revealing the information that "dead" ex-spy, Michael Westen, was alive and well, that could line his pockets. The monetary reward would likely not be the only perk. There would be others who would look on O'Neill more favourably as a man in the know, still keen with his skills despite his time away.

"Westen?" Charlie looked aghast remembering his Google search. Michael Westen, CIA operative, was killed years ago in an explosion. Wasn't he? Charlie's mind was reeling.

The distress was evident on his face and in his posture. He looked at Michael, then at Fiona, a mixture of a sense of confusion and betrayal on his face. Michael and Fiona were equally bereft.

O'Neill sensed the change of mood. The family drama playing out before his very eyes had clearly removed him as the main focus. He knew an opportunity had come. He lunged toward the gun in Fiona's hand. Michael reacted instantly. A bullet ripped into O'Neill's chest. Charlie jumped back while Fiona immediately stepped in front of the boy, her protective instincts overriding all else. A large stain appeared on O'Neill's chest, his eyes lifeless, a threat no longer.

The three stood motionless. Finally, Michael lowered his weapon. Fiona went to Michael's side. She placed a hand gently on his arm. "You had no choice." Michael stayed silent as Fiona added, "Plus, I hated that soulless bastard." She took a final look at her longtime foe, and then headed toward the car. Michael bent down to check for a pulse, believing O'Neill was dead but needing confirmation.

Charlie was speechless. He stared at the corpse. He had never seen a dead body before. He was conflicted. Both of his parents had shot the man lying at his feet, pools of blood surrounding the body. Apparently, his mother **and **his father had a secret past they had kept from him all these years. Was it to protect him from sociopaths like Thomas O'Neill? Charlie grappled with the question. Were his parents heroes or villains? Perhaps a bit of both? He looked up, spotting Fi up ahead.

Michael stood up and moved bedside him, searching for the right words, wanting to pour out his heart to his 'son'. He feared a rift may have developed that could never be undone. Charlie finally found his voice. "Mam's at the car."

"Better not keep her waiting then." Michael forced a smile, placing a hand on Charlie's shoulder. Charlie didn't move away which Michael thought was a positive sign. They began to walk toward Fiona, hands on her hips, clearly anxious to be away.

Charlie noticed her stance. "All those times she was in a bother, saying she wanted to shoot something, I thought she was having me on." Michael's smile turned genuine, as Charlie returned it with one of his own. They picked up their pace, hurrying to join her.

Fiona got behind the wheel ready to be on the move. Michael and Charlie gathered as much of the debris as possible. Fiona and Michael had experience in squirreling away weapons, hiding them until the occasion arose for their need. This situation would be no different. Charlie slid silently into the back seat. No one was quite sure what to say. Michael noticed Fi's Walther lying beside her. "We're going to have to do something with that," indicating the weapon. "Not too many of those lying about."

Fi sighed heavily, a wistful expression on her face, "It's always been my favorite. I picked it up and it was like greeting an old friend. The intervening years just slipping away..." Charlie's eyes widened.

"Look on the bright side. I never know what to get you for Christmas, or your birthday. Now I'll have an idea." Michael replied placing a positive spin on the situation.

Charlie simply shook his head. "You'd get ma a gun for her birthday? Are you bloody serious?" He was still trying to process all that he had seen that day. He was learning so much about his parents, some of it good, some of it unsettling, all of it a bit unbelievable.

"Well, it's happened before." Michael smiled as he reminisced about what now seemed like a simpler time in his life.

"The Makarov." Fiona smiled back sharing the memory. "Most romantic gift you have ever given me." Both were lost in thought, drifting back to the early days when fate brought them together in Miami.

"I hate to break up this moment you're two are having but what are we going to do now?" Charlie recognized that all their worries were definitely not behind them.

Michael and Fiona exchanged looks of concern, instantly confronted with reality. They were currently aimlessly traveling in a stolen car leaving four dead bodies in the hills and an exploded car outside their front door. They had survived O'Neill's attack but not without damage. They had 'outed' themselves, not only to Charlie, but also to the world.

Suddenly, the car zoomed forward as Fi pressed heavily on the pedal. A smile crossed her face as she formulated a plan. "I have an idea!"


	10. Chapter 10

**The Everlasting Present Chapter Ten**

"You have an idea?" Michael braced himself as Fi took another hairpin turn at high speed. "Does your plan involve killing us in a fiery wreck?" Fi shot him a look. "You do realize you're in a car twice as old as Charlie in rural Ireland, right?" No response was forthcoming. "Just because you got an adrenaline rush back there doesn't make this your old sports car." He paused as he scanned the surroundings, "And this is definitely not Miami." Michael feared that Fi was stretching McGee's old Ford to its limits.

"You're no fun, Michael!" A familiar lament from the old days but the car slowed somewhat, Fiona heeding his warning.

"Now that we have returned from warp speed, care to fill me in?" Michael surveyed the road in all directions looking for possible pursuit from the authorities. The roads were empty, the landscape devoid of habitation.

"I need to contact Brady, the Superintendent of the Garda down our way." Fiona directed her attention on the road ahead, fearing there would be resistance from Michael.

Michael was surprised by her suggestion. Fi usually wanted to handle every problem herself. She had a strong distrust of all government agencies, reinforced by her experience in Miami all those years ago. "Not sure contacting the authorities is the smart play here, Fi."

"Actually, it might be. He wasn't always a Garda and he wasn't always 'Brady'." Michael looked at her quizzically. She reluctantly continued, looking somewhat uncomfortable as she explained. "We had a thing back in the bad old days."

"A thing? With Brady?" Michael looked confused.

Fiona was annoyed by his reaction. She hoped for perhaps a twinge of jealousy with this disclosure. "He wasn't always stout and balding, Michael. He used to be quite a strapping fellow."

Charlie's mouth gaped open. "You had a relationship with old man, Brady?" Charlie was finding his ma's past quite disturbing in more ways than one.

"It wasn't exactly a 'relationship'..." Fi smiled at the memory as Michael grimaced and started waving his hands, clearly indicating she had shared enough. That was more the reaction she had wanted!

"TMI, Ma, TMI!" Charlie audibly groaned at the thought.

Michael did not want to dwell on the past, especially the past that concerned Fiona's personal life. "Can you get back to the part how he maybe able to help us?"

Fi explained. "We were associates back in the day. He was involved in the 'banking' business. We worked closely for a while. He gave it up before I did. He wanted a 'normal' life when the Agreement was signed. Settled down. Joined the Garda. Married. I think he has nine children. Quite the model of respectability these days." Fiona grinned at the thought.

This news was unexpected. "He knows who you are? Has the whole time?"

"Yes. There are a few of us around. Left the past behind. Reinvented ourselves." She glanced back at Charlie who was listening intently. "Doubt he wants this mess to be public knowledge. He has just as much to lose as I do, perhaps more." Fiona disliked the idea of dragging Brady into their little problem but they clearly needed whatever resources were available. "It's either trying our luck with Brady or going on the run - again."

Michael watched Charlie's face at this suggestion. He was already overwhelmed by recent events. They could not uproot him. Charlie deserved a chance at 'normal'; he owed that to Madeline and to Nate. He nodded slightly trusting Fiona's judgment, hoping Brady was the answer to their current problem.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They arrived at the cliffs overlooking the sea. The churning waves battering the rocks below matched the thoughts swirling through Charlie's head. Fi stayed in the car, making that call to Brady, hoping a remedy that didn't involve fleeing a country with a teenager in tow could be found.

The guns were cleaned and mangled as much as possible. The last move was to fling them into the deep, hoping they would remain undisturbed on the depths of the sea floor. Michael heaved the first, Fiona's Walther sunk like a heavy stone. Even Michael had a twinge of sadness watching it disappear. He recalled how often it had saved one of them, how comforting he found its presence under a pillow in the loft, how it always reminded him of her. He was surprised by his reaction, not usually one for sentimentality.

Charlie's voice broke his train of thought. Pointing at the other weapon, the one that O'Neill had threatened them with, the one that had been used to end O'Neill's life, he asked, "Can I toss the other one?" Michael stood silently for a moment. "Please," Charlie uttered a final plea. He gave Charlie the surgical glove he was wearing, luckily found in the first aid kit in the boot of the car. Once Charlie placed it on his own hand, Michael handed him the gun. There was no need to explain the importance of hurling it into the sea as far as possible. Charlie performed the task with ease. They stood side-by-side, motionless, as the waves consumed the weapon. "You're, what, a spy, like James Bond?" Charlie finally broke the silence.

"Don't let Fi hear you say that. James Bond was MI-6. It was hard enough that I was CIA. She never much liked government types, especially from the UK." Michael tried to sound relaxed, hoping to put Charlie more at ease.

"So, you're really an American?" Charlie still avoided looking at his father. He nervously added, "Your accent, it changed back there. You didn't sound like yourself. Still don't."

Michael was able to manage a small smile, "Actually, this is my real accent. And yes, I'm technically an American. So are you for that matter." He stopped, letting that fact sink in.

A bout of realization hit Charlie, he wasn't Irish, and he wasn't really an O'Donovan. His name apparently was Charlie Westen. There was a subtle feeling of familiarity with the name. Something he barely recalled but was there nonetheless, like a memory from a dream once awakened.

Michael saw the uncertainty in Charlie's face. He could see Charlie was grappling with this new information. "It wasn't all a lie. Nate and Ruth really were your parents. After they... after they were gone...we just changed a few details..." He hesitated, before continuing. "You were born in Las Vegas, not Cork City, and it was three months earlier than the one listed on your passport, so technically you're already fifteen. Happy birthday, by the way." Michael tried to add a bit of levity to the situation, realizing it was probably a futile attempt.

"I noticed ma's birthday was different, too." Charlie thought for a moment. "Is your wedding anniversary real- or did you change that, too?"

Now, Michael was entering a subject definitely our of his comfort zone. He was unsure exactly how to phrase his response. Wincing a bit, Michael stated, "We, uh, we never really had an official ceremony..."

"You're not married?" Charlie was completely taken aback.

Michael explained, or tried to, "Officially, no, but believe me, we're married."

"So, what one day, one of you could decide to walk away? Just like that?" Charlie was a bit shaken.

"That will never happen. If I ever tried to leave Fi, she'll put a bullet in the back of my head. I'd deserve it." Charlie looked horrified at the idea his ma could ever think of harming his da in any way and more shocking, Michael seemed to find the threat completely reasonable. He stopped, "You'll understand when you know the whole story."

"Would she really do that?" Charlie was no longer sure what to believe.

Michael grinned, his face softening, "I don't intend to find out." Then he turned to face his son. "I know you must have a great many questions. I promise that Fiona and I will answer every one. No more secrets. But right now, we need to focus on our situation. The rest...the rest...will need to wait just a little bit longer." He paused waiting for Charlie's reaction.

Charlie nodded hesitantly. Both turned toward Fiona. She had finished her conversation, a smile crossed her lips. "Is that smile for us or for Brady?" Michael was the first to broach the subject. His comment earned him an eye roll and a disgruntled look.

"Don't be daft, Michael. The smile is for a potential solution to our current situation." She paused before continuing, "We're going with a home invasion." Michael scowled but said nothing. "Brady thinks he can sell it. These city baddies accost a quiet family living on his turf. We barely escape with our lives- in old man McGee's car." Michael's expression turned thoughtful rather than skeptical. He urged her to continue. "Charlie's a minor, his identity must be protected at all costs…"

Michael could see where this was heading now. So he jumped in seeing if he had the complete picture. "Tourism is the life blood of this area. Home invasion robbery not conducive to attracting holidaymakers. Best to keep this hush hush." Fiona nodded.

"And the bodies in the hills?"

"A tragic car crash as they tried to flee the crime." Fiona feigned dismay. "The other two must have had a terrible row over the whole incident. Never a good idea to have a row with guns in your possession."

"Ballistics won't match." Michael pointed out the obvious.

"The fifth robber must have escaped with all the evidence." Fiona added.

"The fifth?" Charlie looked bewildered. "But there were only the four?" Fiona and Michael looked an each other, then looked at Charlie, hoping he would catch on. "Oh, right, the fifth." All three shared a conspiratorial grin.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The time had come. A strategy was devised. The players knew their roles. Charlie had very little acting to perform. He was exhausted, his face ashen, a wild look in his eyes after the events transpiring in the night. He was perfect for the part of overwhelmed teenager!

They arrived at the Garda station at the prearranged time. The day had barely begun. As they exited the car, Michael rushed over to Fiona's side of the car. He helped her out, guiding her movements toward the entry. A loud wail could be heard within the station drawing Brady and a few others to see what the commotion was all about.

An officer opened the door allowing the beleaguered family to enter.

"Oh, thank God, we made it, honey!" Michael look toward his trembling wife. "We're safe now. These good people will help us!"

Fiona continued her keening, tears streaming down her face, unable to speak.

Brady shouted to an underling, "Get the Mrs. a chair. Now!" While the search for seating was underway, Brady added, "How 'bout a nice cup of tea? Always good for the nerves, eh?" Fi gave a weak nod of her head.

A chair was quickly procured. Fiona melting into it as Michael continued his reassuring words, clutching her hand. A cup of tea quickly materialized, the Irish solution to every problem.

Brady's booming voice could be heard over the continuous sobbing, "O' Donovan, right? You live nearby the lough?" Michael nodded, removing his eyes from Fiona's stricken face momentarily. "What seems to be the problem?"

Michael pretending to be shaken began the story. The assailants armed with weapons and explosives descended upon his peaceful home terrorizing his family. He recognized their accents, definitely north of the border. They were looking for cash, drugs, anything of value. He managed to sneak out the back with his wife and son while the thugs were arguing amongst themselves. "They mentioned something about invading the wrong house. Wondering what they were going to do with us." At those last words, Fi let out another wail.

Michael continued with his story after providing Fi with a comforting hug. "We made it over to Mr. McGee's cottage. I didn't want to bring trouble to his doorstep so I borrowed his car. We hid in the hills all night. My son was terrified. As you can see, my wife is hysterical." Michael stopped for emphasis, tears forming in his eyes. "I tried to protect them! How can this happen here of all places!"

Charlie was in awe of the performance. He had to stop himself from grinning, the strain of the night slowly ebbing away.

"Tis a terrible thing that came your way." Brady was empathetic. "Every once in a while those from the cities try to ply their trade in our little hamlet but don't you fret now, we'll make sure they won't come back." He spoke directly to the distraught woman.

Fi, her voice trembling, finally spoke, "I just want to be in me home. Pretend this never happened. Don't want the wee one to suffer any bother over it." Her eyes pleaded for mercy.

Brady gently grabbed her hand. "No worries, Mrs. O'Donovan. A family such as yourselves deserve a bit of peace and quiet to be sure." Smiles were exchanged. A pact was sealed. The 'O'Donovans had survived their night of terror. One question still remained: would the family they had created survive, as well? It was time to return home and pick up the pieces of their shattered lives.


End file.
